


Knight of Powers and Principalities

by prairiecrow



Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Angels and Demons - Freeform, Ceremonial Magic, Friendship, Occult, Other, Quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Knight is on a quest to regain KITT, but it may lead him down roads that he has never imagined existed in his wildest dreams — or his darkest nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knight of Powers and Principalities

_"Don't look, Michael!"_ Jaina Calthoum's scream barely penetrated the roar and shudder of the gale-force winds that whipped around their naked bodies, whining through the links of the silver chains that bound them. "Avert your eyes! Sweet Isis, _don't_ — _!_ " 

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the piercing shrieks of Toban's followers, but Michael didn't need to be told twice: his eyes were already tightly closed against the fierce radiance coming within from the inscribed ceremonial circle where his automobile stood… or had stood several seconds ago, anyway. Something else had taken KITT's place — or perhaps, impossibly, as Calthoum and her associates had been claiming for the past few days, KITT was simply more _present_ than he'd ever been before. 

Over the sound of acolytes dying Michael could hear another sound rising — both higher and deeper than every other, filling every audible scale and shattering off the ends of human perception. It sounded like singing, like weeping, like a battle-cry, like a siren's call that bid him turn his head and open his eyes to gaze upon its source. The pull of it was like the force of gravity itself, a blinding star come to earth, and he bit down savagely on his own lower lip to shock himself back inside his own skin. 

Through the sense of perpetual falling came the words of Nicholas Erinson, spoken on a peaceful sunlit veranda back at the beginning of this adventure: _We believe that it is either Lamechial Who Thwarts Deception or Harahel of the Written Word. Either way Wilton Knight was a magus of considerable power and bravery, to risk binding one of the eternal Malakim to his service._  

Michael had grinned and made some smart-assed quip or other, thinking to himself that if these crazies weren't the only lead that promised any hope of getting KITT back he wouldn't be sitting here listening to their crackpot theories, but Erinson had simply regarded him with perfect calm and said: _Scoff all you like, but remember this — if Toban and her slaves succeed in setting the angel free from its wards and bonds, do not look upon its glory directly. The sight of it will blast your mortal flesh to dust and cinders, for all that it has been constrained to your service these past two years._  

He had barely resisted the urge to laugh at the old man, and had jokingly given his promise. 

He sure as hell wasn't laughing now. 

Toban's chanting had risen to a savage howl. Wild powers surged through the circle, waves of darkness and light that Michael could feel not only as peaks of chill and heat, but as currents that pulled at something far deeper and more fundamental than his blood and his nerves. A battle was being fought, and given that Toban had promised to slit both his throat and Jaina's and to spill their blood as a thank-offering to her eldritch Gods, he could only pray that KITT — or whatever this newly freed thing was that threatened to burst the confines of the priestess's magics — would ultimately emerge victorious.  

It was completely crazy. 

It was also undeniably happening. And all Michael could do in his current position, chained to a standing pillar, was wait for it to end — one way or the other. 

[TO BE CONTINUED…] 


End file.
